Conspiracy - Part 6
There must be some explanation
Charles was pissed. He had worked ungodly hours to get the president elected, tirelessly knocking on doors, registering voters, arranging for them rides to the polls. Hell, he even drove one elderly couple himself at the last minute, helping them into the backseat of his beat-up Jeep SUV.
His support for the president had cost him long-time friends, two major consulting clients and made extended family gatherings awkward, and as a consequence, fewer and farther between. Even his marriage had suffered, not so much due to his views, but his work had caused him to miss family dinners and his daughter’s basketball games. His wife respected and even admired his commitment, but she too had given up a lot for a cause that wasn’t really hers.
Charles’ efforts had paid off, though — or so it seemed. The president won comfortably, carrying by unexpectedly high margins the crucial counties and states where Charles had placed his focus. Finally, he felt, there was a chance to reverse the decline of this great country, bring it back to the imperfect but more wholesome place he remembered growing up.
Unfortunately, after the election things didn’t entirely go as he had hoped. When the president appointed pharmaceutical industry lobbyists to key positions, he was surprised, but reminded himself everyone had to play ball, going scorched earth was rarely the right move in politics, “keep your friends close, enemies closer” and all that. To his credit, the president as promised had appointed to his cabinet the man Charles looked up to most, one who had alienated his entire family and former party to pursue accountability for the reckless pharmaceutical conglomerates whose business model had morphed from treating patients to creating them.
Charles had seen the documents, knew many if not most of their offerings had net negative impacts on longevity and even health span. He knew they had cooked the books, bought off the scientific journals, gate-kept contrary studies via peer review and bribed the corporate media with massive ad-spends. He probably wouldn’t have looked into it at all except that 15-years ago his hippie brother had an autistic daughter and insisted it began right after she received her shots. Everyone told him it was a conspiracy theory, but Charles knew his brother, despite external appearances, was no fool. If Sam said he witnessed it, Charles believed him.
Charles almost smiled thinking back — as awful as his brother’s experience was (his daughter had improved dramatically since due to unconventional chelation therapy) — that was small potatoes, a drop of rain in the Pacific compared to the latest iatrogenic assault on humanity. Charles was convinced if the average person knew what he did about the mandated gene therapy marketed as vaccines, they would need to put the pharma conglomerate execs under armed guard just to ensure they made it to trial with their limbs attached to their bodies.
For that reason, Charles was beyond dismayed when instead of going after the pharma conglomerates, the cabinet appointee made deals with them at the president’s behest. How could the man who on the campaign trail said they had perpetrated a “holocaust” shake hands, smile and tout lower drug prices? It was unthinkable, and Charles was not alone in his sentiments. So many in the movement were aghast and not shy about expressing it on social media. Charles himself had been reluctant to say anything publicly for he so revered the man and held out hope it was all just 11-dimensional chess to get them to let their guard down.
But as months wore on, and the gene therapy remained on the market, still being injected into the arms of children, Charles could no longer take it. He posted to his substantial following about the betrayal of the movement, though notably declined to speculate, as others had, about blackmail, subversion or any other motive for the secretary’s shocking about face.
Charles was not only despondent about the future of the country — the entire movement was about how the prosperity of a nation is foundationally dependent on healthy, well-nourished, unpoisoned children growing into powerful, mentally well and able-bodied adults — but was also having a personal epistemic crisis of sorts. How could he have been so naive? How could the obvious truth and clear imperative be so easily abandoned, no matter the pressures? This was beyond political incentives and the usual subterfuge they always entailed. This was like a young, healthy mother drowning her beautiful newborn in a bathtub.
There must be *some* explanation for this, he thought, something I don’t see that accounts for what they’re doing. Charles rejected the idea the cabinet secretary was bought off — bought off with what? If he could be bought off, why bother to get into that position in the first place? The man surely did not need the money.
Charles posted earnestly about his despair and also his epistemic crisis — what the hell was really going on? Shortly after one post went viral — even mainstream news people were commenting on it — his phone rang. It was a number he didn’t recognize, but for some reason he knew he should answer it. A voice on the other end said, “The Secretary would like to meet with you.”
. . .
Sitting across a desk from the Secretary, a man he had met several times, but did not know well, Charles studied his lined face. He was unusually fit for his age, but seemed like he was under an inhuman amount of stress, having a private battle with forces regular people could not fathom. The secretary smiled and said, “I know what you’re thinking, and I don’t blame you. I’d be thinking the same thing in your shoes.”
Charles nodded.
“Before we get started, you need to know this is completely off the record. If you repeat any of it or attribute it to me, I will deny it. And I also can’t protect you. Do you understand?”
Charles nodded again.
“I asked you to come here because I saw your posts. I suppose there are others I could have asked instead, but yours were the most earnest, the most truthful. It’s what I would hope someone were thinking if they didn’t know what I know.”
“Also, you should know part of the reason I’m doing this, speaking to you, is selfish. What I know has been tough to bear solitarily, and even having someone to tell is frankly a luxury I have not had since I joined the administration nine months ago. But it also entails some risk for you, you should be aware.”
It dimly occurred to Charles to ask about the risk, but before the thought could bubble up into his conscious mind, he heard himself blurt out, “I’m aware, I just want to know what’s going on.”
“Everything I said during the campaign was true,” the secretary continued. “The drug companies have caused untold harms, and the gene therapy was orders of magnitude more harmful than anything that preceded it. I now know that for sure and moreover that virtually all of the harms were known ahead of time. This was admitted to me directly.”
Charles exhaled. Even though he was 90 percent sure they had known all along, it was striking to hear it stated as a fact.
“The primary harms, the turbo cancers, myocarditis, neurological issues, auto-immune problems were side effects, known but minimized — they could have been even worse, hard as that might be to believe. The real purpose was to target fertility, reduce population with the least amount of suffering. They engineered the shots that way, but of course there would be side effects, and many of the principals involved lost loved ones too. They feel terrible about the side effects (well some of them), but, make no mistake, they knew.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Yeah, I didn’t either. You see the problem is something much bigger than what we’d call ‘national security’ or ‘safety’ or even the ill-health pandemic of our children.”
“Very hard to imagine a problem that…”
“The Great Flood was not a myth. It was a historical account.”
. . .
In the cab back to his hotel (the secretary insisted he not take Uber which would provide a record of his trip), Charles’ thoughts were racing. Toggling between the small everyday tasks of picking up his daughter from basketball or doing the dishes after dinner and the large-scale national election and policy shaping work of his job was always a difficult balance. Wiping dry and oiling the fancy cast iron pan his wife had bought in South Carolina so as to prevent rust was also important, he often had to remind himself. The micro and macro scales both require full attention.
But this was another level of macro altogether. The Great Flood? Had the secretary gone mad? What the fuck was he talking about? Charles reflected back on his exact words:
“I know, I know. It sounds crazy, but I assure you the science is very real. As real as the science showing harms I was appointed to prevent. Remember they called us ‘conspiracy theorists’ and ‘tin-foil hatters’ for following where it led, and I’m sorry to say I must be one because I accept its conclusions no matter how much I’d prefer them to be wrong.”
Charles interjected: “If you have iron-clad proof the earth is heading for an armageddon-level cataclysm due to climate change, don’t you think you *might* want to alert the public rather than murdering them and ending their bloodlines via fraud?”
“It’s not climate change, or at least it’s not the ‘reduce your carbon footprint’ nonsense that’s been promoted in the corporate media. It’s much bigger and much worse. I can send you the details on the science, but the short version is the earth’s magnetic poles have already shifted significantly from true north/south. They’ve wandered, this is uncontroversial. And it’s also uncontroversial that our magnetic field has weakened, which means we have less protection against cosmic particles and radiation from the sun. I don’t know if you’ve noticed all the stunning auroras being seen at unprecedentedly low latitudes online — they really are quite beautiful.”
“Maybe, I think so. So what?”
“So as more solar material makes it through our weakened magnetic shield, the mantle that keeps the earth’s surface stable gets dislodged a little bit. The new magnetic poles, far away from the north/south axis, exert a force, along with the massive weight of the icecaps at the poles, and that force is pulling — will pull, we believe — the earth into a 90-ish degree rotation. So India becomes the new North Pole and South America moves to form the South Pole, the sharp movement causing the oceans to slosh chaotically across every continent. We believe this has happened many times in history already on a roughly 6,000-year cycle, recounted not only in the book of Genesis, but also in Chinese, Indian, Mesopotamian, Indigenous American and ancient Greek texts.”
“Okay, this is insane, but for the sake of argument, assume it’s true. What does that have to do with holding accountable those who perpetrated this ’holocaust’ as you yourself put it? Why are we even talking about this?”
“Because the architects of the quote pandemic, the primary (though not sole) purpose of which was the creation of the mRNA shots, have known about this coming cataclysm for decades, don’t believe most of humanity can be saved and have long contemplated reducing the population to minimize suffering and (of course) resistance.”
Charles was dumbfounded. Of course it was something this insane. Profit motive explained a lot of bad behavior in human history, but for a genocide of this scale to be planned in this detail, there had to be something more. And the secretary had told him. People in power had lost their minds, had formed an apocalyptic cult and believed they were culling the population “for the greater good.” They were playing God. But had the secretary also joined the cult? Why is he telling me this in that case?
The secretary continued: “You’re probably wondering whether I agree with them, and the answer is yes and no. I agree with the science behind the cataclysm, and I believe if you look at it through unbiased eyes, you will too. I wish, I hope, I were wrong, but the evidence is substantial and compelling.”
“What don’t you agree with?”
“I don’t agree murdering our fellow citizens and human beings around the world via bioweapons could possibly be the right response to this. I am not a utilitarian. I believe in God.”
“So why are you going along with these psychopaths? Expose them, sue them, take them to court!”
“If I do that, what are they going to say about me? ‘He was always a kook, he went off the deep end, we loved his initial vision, tried to work with him, but he was too far out there.’ They already planted the seeds for this as you well know.”
“Why not hold a hearing and go public with the science behind the cataclysm then? If you think it’s so iron clad, you must have scientists you could call on to prove it to the people?”
“The government scientists who briefed me mostly agree with the current plan. The independent ones would be swiftly discredited and probably worse, destroyed. The hearing would go nowhere, the media would turn it into a laughingstock.”
“But you have to try — if you think this is real which still sounds insane to me. You have to let people know, not just about this but the entire reason for the pandemic and the shots.”
“What do you think would happen if we announced tomorrow the following: ‘The earth’s magnetic poles have weakened and shifted to an extent not seen since the Great Flood six thousand years ago, this portends solar radiation penetrating through the atmosphere soon and likely destroying virtually every electronic system on earth, including food supply chains, power for hospitals and heating for homes in winter. A few years after that, we expect another great flood. We’re not sure of the exact time, but we’re thinking between five and 15 years. Most of you will probably die, and your children will almost certainly never grow up.’
What do you think that does to the economy, the stability of the food supply, the necessity of paying bills and debts?"
“But if this is true, people *should* be panicked. They *should* change their priorities.”
“I agree, but we can’t have mass chaos and violence. I understand why they did what they did, even though it’s abhorrent and evil. They project they can reduce population by 75 percent by 2035, and between the 500 meter-walled city in Saudi Arabia, the underground facilities in Colorado, Pennsylvania, Virginia, Switzerland, various mountain ranges around the world and some private bunkers in strategic locations, they estimate 100-200 million people can survive, roughly 20 percent of those who remain. The other 80 percent will have a better chance than they would have due to less competition for resources, but it’s estimated only 1-2 percent will make it on their own.”
“So why are you telling me this? If you’re so sure we’re doomed.”
“Because as I said, I believe in God. I don’t think we have a right to decide who gets to live and die and to murder untold billions out of some twisted notion of mercy or the greater good.”
Charles looked at the man silently, realizing he had been right about the facial lines carrying an inhuman amount of stress.
“You have to understand, when I signed on for this job, I thought I would be able to persuade the right people about what happened, and if not help bring about a measure of justice, at least protect the innocent from future harm. I thought there were surely some malicious actors who knew what they were doing, but those like the president who were misled would quickly distance themselves when it was laid out for them.”
“But it didn’t happen.”
“No it didn’t happen because they believed the NIH staff, the funders of the pandemic, the scientists who lied and gaslit the public were heroes, that this was all for the greater good, and that it was courageous, heroic even to bear this burden, knowing people would suspect them, knowing they were harming and killing their own family members in some cases. So no, I could not persuade *anyone* these atrocities, this holocaust, and I really do use that word intentionally, even needed to be stopped, let alone prosecuted.”
The cab dropped him off, and Charles took the elevator up to his room. He had planned to get some work done before heading back to the airport, but his mind was spinning. The secretary had directed him to some non-classified sources, amateur sleuths who had figured out more or less the same thing as the government scientists, going so far as to identify ancient monuments like the great pyramid of Giza and Göbekli Tepe in Turkey as warnings from our forebears about a cataclysmic cycle with which they were already familiar. In fact, there were ancient structures like this all over the world from Lebanon to Indonesia, all of which pointed to the ancient magnetic poles, the same destinations toward which ours were now wandering ahead of the flip.
Charles absorbed the text and graphs as quickly as he could — some of it was quite technical, and it was clear even at a glance these researchers were not lightweights. This was serious work. Charles paused for a minute to recall why the secretary had picked him of all people with whom to share this terrible burden.
“I could tell by your post you were hurting. You weren’t just trying to score political points for your following. I knew I could trust you. And of course I knew about your incredible work in the campaign, the skill set you have.”
“To do what?”
“We need to prepare the people to survive, be resilient and difficult to govern rather than easily-led sheep to slaughter. The science is valid, but no one knows with certainty how things will transpire or what is possible if we unite behind a common cause. Think of it like registering voters for an election, but you are registering the faithful for a mission. And by “faithful” I mean those who have not lost their belief in humanity. I don’t know how it will take shape, but I do know for certain, the alternative is unthinkable.”
Charles took a deep breath. Assuming he even believed this insane hypothesis, he was a political consultant, a savvy communicator and logistics man. He believed in God, but he was far from a “fire and brimstone” pulpit screamer. How the hell was he supposed to generate a movement from his 300 thousand-odd social media following? This was an impossible task based on half-baked conjecture. The secretary himself, assuming he was even sane, was too boxed in to deal with it, could offer him no help. And even if it all turned out to be true, we were probably doomed anyway.
Charles looked at the paper one more time, the projected locations of “safe zones” from the flood, fires, hurricanes, earthquakes, volcanos and tornados and closed the tab.
It was time to leave for the airport. If the flight took off on time, he would be back for dinner. Tuesday night his wife usually made steak and buttered sweet potatoes, his favorite meal.